Why am I here? Sometimes - no, a lot of the time - it feels like I’ve outlived my usefulness. My children are raised. I have no demands upon me. I have no relationships that depend upon my continued existence. I work to cover the expenses of a life that I rarely enjoy and that no one else benefits from. So why am I here? Sometimes I ask the why as if I there is no good reason and I am ready to go, but the real WHY isn’t a question of escapism. It’s the honest quest for purpose. I am still here so there MUST be a reason. There must be something that I am still supposed to do, to accomplish, to become. I’ve quit asking why I am alive, because as Alan Watts says, the meaning of life is just to be alive. But I still need to know why I am here. For what purpose. For so long, my purpose was duty to my children. Keeping them alive. That responsibility has now been transferred to them, they have become their own keepers. So why am I here?

Meaningful work is still just that - work. I could disappear from it tomorrow and be replaced like sand backfilling a hole. I am not special in that regard. The work I do pays for a house that I like but rarely see and barely need. The work I do pays for so much waste.

So why am I here? Not to take up space and consume, I have to believe that I am here for more than that, and yet that is all I do in this moment. Maybe in the process of consuming less I will discover why I am still here, occupying space. I have been guilty of trying to answer this why with things. With building an existence around me as if to prove I am meant to be here and I am worthy of the space I occupy, with my nice house and my nice car and my things. But none of those things matter, and none of them are why I am here, yet they are the sole reason I have to keep working. What a world of upside down. Maybe I am here until I can learn to right-side-up my life.